For The Better
by Dorku No Renkinjutsushi
Summary: Percy leaves home. It's for the better, really.


**Title:** For The Better  
**Author:** **creepy_crawly**  
**Rating:** Um. G?  
**Warnings:** Sad Percy. Aww, poor Perce.  
**Pairing/Those Involved:** (gen) Percy Weasley, Charlie Weasley  
**Disclaimer:** No own. No money. No shame.  
**Summary:** Percy leaves home. It's for the better, really.

* * *

It's for the better, Percy reminds himself.

Kneeling on the hard, warped wooden floor of his bedroom, he packs up the last of his books. They sit in his trunk, tidy and organized, straight edges in straight rows. Just the way he likes things to be. Next follow his underthings, all packed up in nice, brown-paper wrapped bundles, sorted by color. Then trousers, folded carefully, and shirts on top of them. He hangs his robes up on hangers, and then carefully folds them into another trunk.

"Are you sure you have to go?" Charlie asks quietly, having Apparated in at the end of the hall. He peers around the door; he's never had any problem picking the lock or breaking the wards Percy puts up.

Percy doesn't look up at his older brother. Charlie wouldn't understand this, he knows that. Nevermind that Charlie himself has fled the family; there are dragon reserves in Britain, too. But Charlie doesn't need to stand out. He always has, because he's the talented Quidditch captain who has his name on more than one trophy at Hogwarts. But Percy hasn't gotten on a broom since first year, when Madame Flock's apprentice, Madame Hooch, asked if he'd be following his brother onto the Quidditch pitch.

"I have to," he tells Charlie quietly. He can _feel_ the lump in his throat, choking out all the words. He swallows quickly; it burns. He starts as something falls out of a pocket of one of his robes. Leaning over, he picks it up.

His old Head Boy badge. He knows that it's his, and not Bill's, because it still has that odd, tarnished look to it. It started looking that way after the twins changed it; they wouldn't have _dared_ to do that to Bill's Head Boy badge. But Percy's is just Percy's, and Percy isn't the frighteningly brilliant and talented oldest brother. Percy didn't set records with his O.W.L.'s or his N.E.W.T.'s; when his letters arrived, his mother squealed that they were, "almost as good as Bill's!"

The bed squeaks protestingly as Charlie sits down on it, the door closing with a flick of his wand. "Is it the twins, Perce?" he asks gently, setting his wand down on the bedside table that they shared for years. "Because you know they don't—"

"Don't mean it?" Percy interrupts, finally looking at him. His eyes are angry, betrayed. "They mean it, Charlie. They haven't left me alone for a single minute in at least seven years, and you all just laugh and encourage it! I know I'm not funny except when I'm the butt of the jokes, but I occasionally want someone to remember my name—and I don't mean being able to tell me, Weasley, apart from some staffer who died forty years ago!"

Charlie seems uncomfortable in the sudden silence that follows this outbreak; he shifts on the bed. "Percy, I remember your name. You're my little brother, and—"

"That doesn't seem to mean a thing to anyone here anymore," Percy spits, slamming the lid of his trunk down. "Ron never shuts up about Harry this and Harry that, and you come back and sing his praises, and I'm the bad guy because I didn't even realize my boss was under _Imperius_! Mum always fusses over Ron, because Ron brings Harry, and you know Mum's habit of collecting strays! And yeah, I'm just the stodgy brother, the stick-in-the-mud son, the one who'll actually _do_ the chores asked of him!"

"So you're just going to leave?" Charlie demands. "Because you're jealous of Harry Potter?" He shakes his head; his long hair—modelled after Bill's, yanked back in a tight queue—whips over his shoulder like a snake.

"Even I'm not that pathetic," Percy sighs. He magics his trunk closed, so that he's the only one who can open it. Then he sits down on it, like a stool. "It's just…I feel like they've forgotten I live here, except when Fred or George need a victim. Ginny used to love me, because I protected her from you lot. Now, she just rolls her eyes and says, "shut up, Weatherby," whenever I try to talk to her. I miss my family, and I still live upstairs."

Charlie opens his mouth, as if to say something, and then closes it again. He does this a few times, and then, finally, he sighs. "I'm sorry, Percy," he whispers, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Merlin's beard, I'm sorry. But running away is not the answer!"

"No," Percy agrees, shaking his head. "But it's for the better."

And he Apparates away.


End file.
